Waking Up in Twinsburg

One year ago today, I woke up in Paris. At roughly 6am France-time my silver arrow shot from the sky and skidded to an undramatic halt on the asphalt. I was surrounded by a conglomeration of exhausted, bedraggled, disheveled voyagers, yawning and stretching and readjusting their sore bottoms in the tiny seats. Some looked out the window with expressions of mild pleasure, others fumbled for their cellphones and the purses they had shoved under seats 7 hours prior, and others merely raised an eyebrow to the collective awakening around them. It was unimpressive. It smelled remotely of overcooked airplane vegetables and starched clean yet remarkably uncomfortable airplane pillows.

I was beaming, although perhaps not outwardly. I dragged my baggage from the overhead bin with the same indifference as the rest of the passengers, and I was swept along the skywalk with hastened efficiency like a small fish in a school of ever-late voyagers. But inwardly, an invisible geyser of emotion teased the back of my throat. It tasted remotely of last night's poorly marinated chicken and slightly resembled the churning of a nervous stomach before a big race, or speech, or the ACT. But it was delightful.

I do not have time to write much. I am currently sitting on Alec Bojalad's couch, waiting for Stephanie Fisk to be done with her shower, and waiting for Carmilla (the cat) to get off my blanket. I woke up this morning in Twinsburg. Fisk and I are preparing a girls-only road trip to Toronto for no apparent reason...other than to be out of the country and to do something wild and exciting (or at least something unique). Twinsburg is no Paris. In fact, Alec's allotment of ominously similar houses is rather quite frightening. And yet, I'm kind of content with the way things are. In a few hours, Fisk and I will be leaving the country again, and in (mental calculation) 78 days I will yet again be crossing the Atlantic. I can't say if I'll feel the same slightly nauseating yet exhilarating excitement as I did last time my plane touched down in Paris, but at least I'll be back in the country where, for the first time in years, I felt truly, existentially, purely happy.

That remains to be seen. For now, it's omelets and coffee in Twinsburg.